


the devil's hands are idle playthings

by rissi (fullhousecast)



Series: Tumblr Requests [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gay Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Past Rape/Non-con, Pepper Potts is an angel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Requested, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullhousecast/pseuds/rissi
Summary: “Peter-”He felt a tap on his forearm.An unannounced, unexpected touch from someone not in his immediate field of vision.A threat.Peter’s reflexes took over as he harshly whacked Tony's hand away. “Do not fucking touch me!”--It's been five years since Skip Westcott, but it still feels just as fresh.





	the devil's hands are idle playthings

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Ok but.... I would live for a fic where Peter is gay and comes out to Tony, but that’s not the real problem. The problem is that he was (canonically) sexually harassed by Skip Westcott when he was younger and ruined it for Peter, who now fears he won’t ever be able to get over his PTSD

 

Peter took psychology his sophomore year.

 

Sure, the class roster was drawn with seniors given priority, and yeah, maybe he only got in because the teacher heard about his internship. Either way, he still took a semester of psych.

 

Peter had really only taken the class for credit towards his STEM diploma. He otherwise didn’t care for the neurosciences- in fact,  the brain was the only machine he _detested_ to study. Each lesson was a reminder that he was essentially nothing more than neurological functions conducted by lobes and protected by glia. His problems and trauma were nothing more than a proliferation of mental disorders and chemical imbalances. The intricacies of his person were built simply from memory stored in the temporal lobe.

 

His torment was medically classified as nothing more than residual trauma of the prefrontal cortex. Acute strain to the synapses. Post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD.

 

Common. Treatable. Oftentimes caused by shit objectively more haunting than what Peter went through- more haunting than Skip Westcott.

 

He didn’t try to forget Skip. Peter was the type of kid who was able to rationalize beyond his years, and he refused to let himself shove the fucker so deep down into his psyche that he never thought of him again.

 

He figured that repression couldn’t be healthy.

 

He didn’t seek help. He didn’t talk about it. It was better for Skip to remain unspoken- he would be a waste of breath. Peter refused to give him the satisfaction of his tears.

 

His current issue wasn’t the memory of Skip; it was _proximity._

 

Nothing made Peter sick like closeness, regardless of who it was he came into contact with. The heat and smell of their person, no matter how subtle or pleasant, would cause a wince and a crinkle of his nose. The feeling of foreign skin against his own made him overheat and shake. It was a sense of smothering; offensive and fraught. The most gentle brush of his arm or a breath by his neck sent a ripple of revulsion through his gut. It was complete sensory overdrive.

 

Ned knew not to touch Peter. May knew not to touch Peter. MJ knew not to touch Peter. _Everybody_ knew not to touch Peter. They just didn’t know _why_ they didn’t touch Peter.

 

Skip’s torment didn’t just stop at what he did to Peter five years ago; it extended into his ability to convey normalcy. What type of teenage boy rejects a high five from his best friend or a hug from his aunt?

 

Now, here’s the gag of the season- Tony didn’t know not to touch Peter.

 

_“Come on, Einstein.”_

 

Granted, Tony’s touches were entirely sparse and inoffensive. They were pretty much limited to claps on the back or a brief, friendly arm around the shoulder. When they happened, they were to communicate Tony’s awkward pride and affection he held for the boy. Peter appreciated the thought, but each ruffle of his hair forced him to repress a shudder.

 

_“Let’s conduct a little experiment of our own.”_

 

He was either good at hiding it, or Tony just didn’t acknowledge how tense Peter got.

 

_“Let’s see if we can touch each other like the people in the magazine.”_

 

The hand Tony would occasionally place on his shoulder became Skip shoving him down by the arm. The brush of the tape measure around his waist during iron-spider suit fittings seemed just like Skip’s sticky fingers digging into his hips.

 

_“Please- Skip, don’t- I’ve got to go now-“_

 

Human touch was Steven Westcott. Human touch made Peter twelve years old again, locked in Skip's room; Skip sat on the bed with a porn magazine in his hand.

 

Peter often asked himself, _‘why didn’t you try a little harder? Why didn’t you push him off? Why the fuck did you freeze?’_ These thoughts were always followed by a sinking flush of guilt. He knew that what happened wasn’t any direct fault of his, but he always ended up playing devil’s advocate with himself.

 

_You just sat there. You get to shoulder some of the blame._

 

__

 

When Peter met Pepper, he took an immediate liking to her.

 

It wasn’t particularly common for Pepper to be milling about the lobby of the compound. She frequently locked herself in her office or left the country for business trips. Peter was often the recipient of Tony’s whining, usually something along the lines of _‘I miss her so much, why was that stupid conference in Birmingham today of all weekends?’_

 

Those rare days where circumstance allowed Peter to pass her in the hall were always better days.

 

Their first encounter was a fond memory for Peter. It was one of the early days of the ‘internship’, when his relationship with Tony was dicey and awkward.  At that point, Tony wasn’t terribly concerned with punctuality. On many occasions, Peter would stand alone in the compound lobby before being sent into the lab. He would never call Tony out for indirectly causing those uncomfortable six-ish minutes of awkwardly waving at people who passed by him. It wasn’t a bother, really; Peter understood how busy the man was.

 

When Tony’s fake ass was an hour and a half late one Wednesday afternoon, Peter was ready to throw formality to the wind and march straight to the lab. Pepper had been his saving grace.

 

He was halfway across the lobby floor when he heard, “Are you waiting for someone, honey?”

 

He couldn’t help but gape. “Uh, I’m-” _holy fuck that’s Pepper Potts my gay heart can’t handle this-_ “I’m here for my internship? I was, uh, supposed to see Mr Stark an hour and a half ago.”

 

Pepper’s face had melted from concern to realization. “So you’re Peter?”

 

“Yep.” He had tapped his fingertips on his palms, a tic indicative of his nervousness.

 

The woman had exhaled, exasperated. “I’m so sorry that Tony’s kept you waiting for that long. As smart as that man is, I swear he’s just a big moron.”

 

She stepped towards Peter. He watched as she raised a hand, clearly meant to land on his shoulder. He couldn’t contain an anticipatory wince.

 

She seemed to detect his discomfort. She quickly redirected the hand into a gesture to walk. He refrained from a sigh of relief.

 

“Let’s go let him have it, huh?”

 

Together, they made their way to the lab. Peter had expected Tony to be absorbed in some engaging project, but they instead found him limp on the couch, watching _It’s Always Sunny In Philedelphia_.

 

Tony stood to greet her. “Hey, Pep, welcome back! How was the trip?” Then, as an afterthought: “Oh, hey, Parker.”

 

Pepper raised her hand in front of his face, intercepting the kiss he was about to give her. “Nope.”

 

Tony’s face had screwed up. “Oh shit, you’re mad at me. What’d I do?”

 

“Hmm, I don’t know!” She loosely crossed her arms. “Why don’t you apologize for ghosting Peter?”

 

“I’m not  _that_ late-“

 

“An hour and a _half_ , Tony.” She had stepped to Peter’s side. “He’s been standing alone for nearly two hours waiting for your dumb ass!”

 

“Shit.” Tony stood, rubbing rubbing his forehead. “Sorry, kid- my fault.”

 

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, highkey.”

 

Tony had tilted his head but didn’t question Peter’s phraseology. “Let’s get to work, huh?” He gave Peter a firm pat on the back as he passed him. Peter didn’t allow his shudder to escape until Tony couldn’t see him.

 

As Peter turned to follow the man, Pepper stopped him. “Peter?”

 

“Yes, ma’am?”

 

She stopped, choosing her words. “Are you uncomfortable with people touching you?”

 

Peter was dumbfounded. “Huh?” he squeaked, lamely.

 

“I don’t know.” She briefly rolled her lips between her teeth. “You looked really uncomfortable when I went to grab your arm earlier, and you completely tensed up when Tony hit you on the back a second ago.”

 

Peter had breathed a relenting sigh. “It’s stupid, but yeah.” He hesitated before saying, “I’d like to talk to Tony about it on my own time, so could you not mention it to him?”

 

She gave him a gentle smile. “Of course.”

 

 _What a queen,_ Peter had thought before heading to the lab.

 

—

 

“What’s the date?”

 

 _It’s summer, do you really think I keep track of what day it is?_ Peter clicked out of his conversation with MJ to check the date. “It’s the twenty-eighth.”

 

“Thanks.” Tony added the date to whatever document he was working on.

 

“Mmhmm.” Peter returned to iMessage, not at all paying attention to what Tony was doing.

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 2:25 PM_ **

 

_MJ: beep beep mr man lets go to 7/11_

 

_MJ: i want a diet pebby_

 

“Pete, can you give me a hand here?”

 

Peter inadvertently tuned Tony out, smiling broadly at his phone.

 

_Peter: asdffghkolfmjmcf diet pebby? wha t_

 

_MJ: pepsi dumbass_

 

“Pete?” Tony tried again.

 

_Peter: lmfao yea, just gotta finish up here and ill be there around 3:15 ish_

 

“Peter-”

 

He felt a tap on his forearm.

 

An unannounced, unexpected touch from someone not in his immediate field of vision.

 

A _threat._

 

Peter’s reflexes took over as he harshly whacked the hand away. “Do _not_ fucking touch me!” His face was wild with something that Tony couldn’t place- fear, perhaps?

 

Tony’s eyes widened. He withdrew the offending arm to his own chest.

 

 _Fuck._ Peter sat back down. “Sorry.”

 

“You’re fine.” Tony forced any visible shock to leave him. “Who’re you texting? You seemed pretty smiley.” _Smooth change of subject. Nice._

 

Peter relaxed slightly. “Just MJ. She’s one of my best friends.”

 

Tony returned his focus to the hologram in front of him. “Oh?”

 

“Yep.” He still seemed the slightest bit on edge.

 

“Do you like her?” Tony asked, glancing at Peter.

 

Peter’s head shot up, brows quirked with confusion. “Huh?”

 

“Y’know, _like_ her?” He repeated.

 

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re being facetious- you’re joking, right?” Peter’s tone suggested that Tony’s question was ludicrous.

 

“Uh, no?”

 

Peter squinted. “I’m gay, dude. I try to make that obvious.”

 

Tony made a soft noise that wordlessly said, _‘that makes a lot more sense’._ “Ah, gotcha.”

 

\--

 

Since that day, Tony thought a lot about Peter’s explosive reaction to such a small moment of contact.

 

Now that he thought about it, Peter had always seemed averted to touch from the start. He had initially thought nothing of the tiny winces, chalking it up to shyness. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

 

“I’m worried about the kid,” Tony mentioned to Pepper in bed one night.

 

“Hmm?” She set her phone down to look at him.

 

He absentmindedly toyed with the hem of his duvet. “Yeah. I feel like he’s hiding something from me.”

 

“What makes you say that?” She asked, lifting her head from her pillow and resting her chin in her hand.

 

“He did something super strange the other day.”

 

She looked at him expectantly, prompting him to continue.

 

“We were in the lab, and he wouldn’t put his phone down. He wasn’t paying any attention to what I was saying, so I-”

 

“Touched him?”

 

Tony pivoted his head, staring up at her. “Yeah, and he freaked the hell out. How’d  you guess?”

 

Pepper shrugged, lying back to be eye level with him. “He doesn’t like being touched.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“He told me.”

 

Toy nodded, deciding against asking for elaboration as to why Peter told her. “He didn’t happen to mention why, did he?”

 

“Nope.” She took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Just be careful asking him about it, okay? You don’t want to scare him off.”

 

“I will.”

 

\--

 

**iMessage**

**_Today, 11:47 PM_ **

 

_Tony: Hey_

 

_Peter: ?_

 

_Tony: What do you mean “?”_

 

_Peter: as in, whats up_

 

_Tony: Ah gotcha_

 

_Tony: And I was just curious about something_

 

_Peter: lmao here we go_

 

_Peter: youre gonna ask me abt the stroke i had in the laf right_

 

_Peter: lab*_

 

_Tony: Essentially._

 

_Peter: hold on_

 

**_Peter Parker is Calling_ **

 

Tony picked up on the first ring. “Hey, buddy.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“How’re you doing?” Tony asked, not sure how to start this conversation.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Are you gonna be this short with me the whole call?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Tony sighed. “Then why call me if you’re basically refusing to talk?”

 

“M’not refusing to talk,” Peter countered, voice dull. “I just wanna answer whatever you have to ask so I can go to bed.”

 

_Straight to it, then. Huh._

 

“Well?” Peter prompted, sounding tense and impatient.

 

 _No point in preamble._ “Is there a reason that you don’t like people touching you, or are you just skittish?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah what?”

 

“Yeah to the first one, dipshit.”

 

 _He’s being super defensive._ “Okay, does it have to do with a person?”

 

Peter hesitated, but his voice remained steely. “Yeah.”

 

“Is…” Tony didn’t even want to say it. “Is someone hurting you?”

 

“...No.”

 

_Oh._

 

“Did someone hurt you in the past?”

 

There was a laugh over the receiver, dry and humorless. “Guess.”

 

“Will you stop being so fucking _cryptic?_ ” Tony demanded.

 

Silence, and then: “Chill.”

 

Tony was immediately ridden with guilt. “Sorry, kid.”

 

“You’re fine.”

 

So the kid was isolating himself. Quietly dealing with some fucked up thing in his past- that much was obvious.

 

It made Tony sick to wonder what was haunting him- or rather, _who_ was haunting him.

 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Tony tentatively asked, voice soft.

 

Peter answered robotically. “I was twelve. He was older. I didn’t understand what was going on. I’m sure you can fill in the details.”

 

Tony’s stomach dropped. He sat heavily on the floor, cheek pressed to the wall. The phone remained at his ear, but neither of them spoke.

 

Peter broke the quiet. “Don’t expect me to cry or anything.” Tony heard shuffling, as if Peter was busy with something else- as if this conversation was an afterthought. “I’ve never cried about it, I’m fine- I’ll be fine as long as nobody fucking _touches me.”_

 

Tony’s breath shuddered. “You’ve never cried about it?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Does May know about this?” _Please don’t say…_

 

“Nope.”

 

_Fuck._

 

“You’re repressing.”

 

“I’m not.” Peter sounded confused. “We’re talking about it right now, how is that repressing?”

 

Tony sighed. _Master manipulator- always deflects._ “Okay, maybe repressing isn’t the right word. We’ll use ‘avoiding’.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Tony took that as a go-ahead. “You avoid processing your trauma, so your body pays the price. You can’t differentiate evasive and gregarious contact.”

 

Peter scoffed lightly. “Really, ‘gregarious’? Just say ‘nice’, man.”

 

“Don’t tune me out. You know I’m right.”

 

A pause. “Maybe so.”

 

“Definitely so.”

 

There was another short period of silence. Tony wondered what Peter was doing in that moment.

 

“I’ve never cried about it.” Peter’s even voice seemed to be cracking a bit. “Sometimes I get worked up, though. I get angry and I panic and I throw shit.”

 

Peter breathed weakly before continuing. “Sometimes I think that I’d feel better if I cried about it, but I can’t. I’m just angry. I push people away. Sometimes I feel like I’m outside of my own body and I can’t do anything about it. I hate it. _Fuck._ ”

 

Tony remembered reading about the various forms of PTSD after his own diagnosis. _‘Complex PTSD: impulsivity, aggression, panic, dissociation...’_

 

“Do you want me to come pick you up? We can go catch a movie or something,” Tony offered.

 

A tentative yet genuine laugh. “What theater shows movies at 12 AM?”

 

“Good point. Wanna go to the Waffle House?”

 

“I’m pretty sure those don’t exist in New York, Mr Stark.”

 

“Then we’ll fly to the closest state that has one. I don’t know about you, but I wanna do something.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.” Tony could practically hear his smile through the phone.

 

“I’m serious! Nothing makes your night good like gross hash browns and paper Waffle House hats.”

 

“As tempting as paper hats sound, I think I’m just gonna call it a night,” Peter said with a poorly-stifled yawn.

 

Tony chuckled. “Whatever you want, Pete. Goodnight.”

 

“Wait, before you hang up…”

 

“Yeah, kid?” Tony prompted.

 

His response barely rose above a whisper. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told.”

 

Tony suddenly wished he was with Peter, able to give him a hug without freaking him out. For the first time in a while, he felt powerless; no solution evident in the immediate future. He didn’t know how he was going to help Peter alone- the kid didn’t even know how to help himself.

 

 _The kid didn’t even know how to help himself._ Peter was just as lost as him- he’d been lost for years.

 

They were in this together. “We’ll figure it out, kid. Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes bitch that title was a futurama reference  
> comments are love!  
> fic requests are open on my [tumblr!](https://iron-arachnid.tumblr.com/)  
> if you liked this, please consider liking or reblogging on tumblr. it helps me get my stuff out there ^^


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